


I’m So Into Him

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dancing, Dating, Deception, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypnotism, Latino Character, Plot Twists, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: Elena, a professional dancer, is amazed with her new boyfriend and his powers in bed.  But why does he see her so rarely?





	1. Chapter 1

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

…there!  **_There’s_** Julián’s cock…  **_Yes!_**

I close my eyes and absently moan as I feel my boyfriend’s iron-like shaft thrust into my glistening vagina, **_perfectly_** kissing my spot as it thunders past.  Julián is on top of me, his nude body pressing down against mine.  As he begins pumping, I feel him in me, his hips chugging along like a piston engine.  Oh, _Dios,_ he’s a master at **_this_**.

I know already: soon I’ll have a record-breaking orgasm.  “Oh yeeeeeeah,” I groan.

The night is warm and humid, and our bedsheets stink of sweat.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I mumble, my fingertips wandering aimlessly over Julián’s thin body as he charges into full speed and fucks me like an expert.  Oh, this boy!  He has **_excellent_** rhythm.  He’s pushing in deep, **_really_** deep, but he’s not mindlessly hammering like most men would.  No, Julián pumps in and out, in and out, rapidly and with perfect timing.  As my orgasm builds, I actually wonder if he’s timing each thrust to match my pounding heartbeats.

That wonderful cock **_strokes_** my clit, just so, just right.  Ohhhhhh…!  Ohhhhh ** _hhhhh!!!_**

When I’m boning and the sex is good, really good, I start with the dirty talk.  I can’t help it.  My older sister, Gabby, does that.  Maybe it’s a family trait.

Now filthy obscenities pour from my lips as I lose all control.  I arch my back, shoving my head deep into the pillow.  As I babble, I command Julián to plow me even harder, _even harder, baby, oh_ **fuck me** _, your cock feels **soooooo** good, I’m your bitch forever you fucking stud, you hear me?  Fuck me harder baby, harder, harder goddamn, ohhh yeah!  Yeah!  Oh _Dios _, I’m close, I’m close, I’m close, I’m close, I’m-_

…mmmMMM ** _MMM!!!!_**

I cum like a fucking geyser erupting.  My hands begin flailing about wildly, eventually gripping the wall behind me.  I am screaming with delight.  As my toes and ass begin to light up like fucking Christmas, I feel Julián add even more power to his thrusts.

He’s felt me come alive, and now he’s close.  He’s **_close_**.  Oh, I want him to cum.  I want him to burst so fucking hard that he rockets across the room when that fabulous cock goes off.  I want him to explode so bad that he can’t walk for ten minutes.  I want him to have the orgasm of his life, right here in my VJ.

I want Julián to feel the best sex of this life, **_right now_**.

My boyfriend thunders on.  My hands fly down and clamp onto the top of his ass, his narrow, muscular, amazingly-cute ass.  As I press my fingers against those hardened and straining muscles, I hear him gasp.

His entire body jerks as his hips fly, and then he is cumming.  Oh, he’s cumming like a river.  I can feel it.

Julián moans, a satisfied grunt which starts low, but quickly rockets upwards in pitch.  He pumps me more, but I can feel him slowing and enjoying himself.

Oh **_yeah…!_**

My own wits are returning to me.  As I heave for breath, I become aware of my neighbor’s radio, the cars honking below, the soft rumble of the elevator in our crappy apartment building.  Funny how all those sounds were there but not just a while ago.

I wrap my arms around Julián as he slows, then comes to a stop.  He lets out a long, shaky breath, then tries to climb off me.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I warn him playfully, and hug him tighter.

Julián doesn’t resist me.  He collapses, his full weight crushing down on my sweaty body.  His cock is still shoved up deep inside me.

I smile, kissing his cheek once, to let him know how good it was.  Man, I’m so into him.

*****

It is rehearsal day.  I arrive at Samba Jive, our company studio, hurrying to the ladies’ locker room as fast as my sneakers will carry me.  As I fly down the corridor, I nearly trample Vincente, our new Assistant Choreographer.  Thankfully, the skinny boy leaps out of the way as I rush past.

“Sorry Vincente,” I yell over my shoulder before popping into the changing area.

In five minutes, I am in my tank top, booty shorts, and well-worn dance shoes.  I love these shoes.  They’re about to fall apart, but man!  These shoes and me have been through so much together.  I’m putting off the day when I have to replace them.

My BFF, Alba, is already stretching out on the barres.  I wait until she lowers her leg, then sneak up behind her.

“ ** _Freeze bitch!_** ” I roar just before she assumes the next position.

Alba shrieks and leaps, spinning around.  Her wild eyes rest on me, and she calms down.

I laugh wickedly, snorting through my nose.  “Got you, _chica!_ ” I tease.

My friend shoots me a rotten glance, but doesn’t seem that put-off.  I join her at the barre.

Alba is a sweet girl, but she’s too easy to prank.  She’s tall and slender, without many curves.  But her face is beautiful, simply beautiful, and she knows how to move her body in the most seductive ways possible.  I may have the curves, but whenever we dance together, the boys stare at Alba.

We are members of _Pies Ardientes_ , the best troupe of pro women dancers in the greater Orlando area.  You’ve seen us, although you don’t know it.  We appear in music videos, at football games, corporate sales events, conventions, much more.  We did a major TV show at Disney last year.  We do a lot of commission work; I’ve heard even the big New York dance companies can’t match our credits.

Competition for a slot in our little group is fierce.  I barely got in myself.  It makes the comradery amongst us girls very tight.

“S’up, _dama?_ ” I say happily to Alba, matching her hamstring stretch.

“You’re a horrible person, Elena,” Alba scolds me, but there’s twinkle in her eye.

I cackle wickedly as I lean into the stretch.  “Have you seen the latest call roster?” I have to ask.

Alba nods.  “We have a car commercial next week,” she says.  “Plus a mall appearance.  And then another TV show?  I’m not sure.”

Woof!  That much?  It’ll be a busy week.

I need to clear my head before we get into rehearsal.  With a docket this packed, there won’t be a lot of time to learn the new routines.  I’ll need to concentrate.  Madame Gabriela will drive us like slaves.

“Hey,” I say, deliberately changing the subject.  “How is Eduardo?”

Alba’s new boy.  She blushes at the mention of his name.

“We’re good…” she says coyly, and **_immediately_** I know those two are having crazy wild sex.

Alba and I switch to a back stretch.  We plant our feet on the Vinyl floor, grip the barre, and then lean way back.  We keep our knees and elbows locked; this is excellent for the spine.

“You two are getting serious, then,” I tease Alba.

“Seriously kinky,” giggles my friend.  “That boy… I don’t know what it is about him, but his cock has strange powers.  Makes me want to do wicked things.”

“Heh,” I snort, in appreciation.

“Seriously, _chica!_ ” Alba exclaims.  “Like when I’m with him, its like I’m a porno lady or something!  I love it.  Oh, I’m so into him.”

I grin, happy for my friend.  Alba has always been stuck-up.  Its nice to see her discovering her sexual side.

Behind me, a hand suddenly clamps on my ass and **_squeezes_**.

I squeal in surprise, nearly falling out of my stretch in shock.

“Ha ha ha!” belly-laughs a voice behind me.

I blush.  I know who the prankster is; Maia.  That bitch is gonna get herself arrested someday.

“Calm down, _chica_ ,” Maia mocks me as she joins me at the barre.  “I was just admiring that cute tushy of yours.”

I feel a burning in my face, but let it go.  Maia is just kidding around.

As she folds herself into the same back stretch that Alba and I are using, I glance at Maia.  She’s the youngest of us, just short of twenty years old.  Very pretty, with enough curly hair to still pass as a minor.  I’m sure she gets carded like crazy.  Maia has a natural dancer’s body, with gorgeous eyes.  No wonder Madame Gabriela likes to put her up front.

“What’s goin’ on ladies?” Maia asks.

I pass along the joyous news that Alba and Eduardo are having the year’s filthiest sex.

“Ah, well done, _chica_!” compliments Maia.  “So: How huge is Eduardo’s cock?”

Alba and I roll our eyes.  Sometimes I forget how young and foolish Maia can be.

“You’ll have to wonder about that on your own,” replies Alba.

We all lean deeper into the stretch.  Ahhhh, it feels good.

“Well, since we’re talking about Orlando’s greatest penises…” Maia begins mildly.

Instantly Alba and I know what she’s about to say.  “You **_didn’t!_** ” I exclaim.

Last we gossiped, Maia mentioned meeting a boy named… Carlos, I think?  Juan?  He sounded cute.  But they already went to bed?  That was fast.

Under interrogation, Maia spills the beans.  Yes, she and her boytoy shacked up, just last night.  “You didn’t hear me screaming?” she teases us.  “I thought they could hear me down in Miami.”

“This has been a banner month,” I observe.  “Me and my _chicas_ are all hooking up, all at the same time!”

“Amen,” Alba seconds.

The thing about this stretch is you have to stick your butt out as far as possible to get the most of it.  I won’t do it in public, because it attracts too much male attention.  Now, as I cat-cow my spine, I catch Vincente staring at us through the studio mirrors.  Right now, he’s seriously ogling my butt.

“Hey,” I say quietly to my friends. 

I gesture with my nose and all three of us crane our necks to stare back at our assistant choreographer.  When he realizes we’re onto him, he turns bright red and busies himself on his phone.

“Huh,” I say, coming out of the stretch.  “I always figured that boy was gay.”

*****

Rehearsal is a bear.  The director of the car commercial hasn’t provided a lot of instruction, so we have to overprepare.  Madame Gabriela constructs material for **_three_** car commercials, with the idea that we can adapt into what we need when its time for the shoot.

But, man, working this hard and fast sucks!  I dance my ass off, doing my best to commit every step to memory.  We do a five-hour session, no breaks.  My muscles and brain are sore when Madame Gabriela finally seems satisfied.

“No-one wander off,” she tells us sternly.  “We’re going to run through everything one last time, then I need to start blocking our mall appearance.  It’ll be a long day.”

Around me, the girls are sweat-stained and weary.  I’m about to fall over.

“Why don’t we do a meditation?” Vincente suggests, clearly in tune with our suffering.

Madame Gabriela considers this, chewing on one lip.  “There’s still so much to-“

“I know,” Vincente interrupts gently.  “But the girls could use the refresher.”

No kidding.  I’m about to fall over here.

Madame Gabriela offers a small smile.  “Very well,” she allows.  “I’ll be in the office.  Do a quick one, then one hour lunch.  We resume at two.”

I study our Head Choreographer as she sweeps from the rehearsal room.  Madame Gabriela is a striking woman, tall and lanky, with a ballerina’s trained body.  Her face is lean but gorgeous, like a wicked queen from a fairy story.  At forty-one, the woman’s ancient for a dancer, but can still strut her stuff like the rest of us.  I personally think she’s a cold bitch… but I’ll admit she’s tough but fair.

Maybe its my imagination, but did Madame Gabriela sneak an admiring glance at Vincente before she is out the door?  A thought strikes me.  Could these two be an item?

Now **_there’s_** a notion.  I know Madame Gabriela is divorced, but I’ve never known her to express a romantic or sexual interest in anyone.  She has always been cold and detached.  Hell, I thought she was a vampire for the first year I was in the troupe.

My eyes narrow as I turn my scrutiny on Vincente.  He’s twenty-two, boyish in his manner, handsome, but not gorgeous.  Not like Julián.  With messy black hair, brown eyes, and a lopsided grin, Vincente strikes many as meek and disarming.  He has that twig-like dancer’s body.  Small, compact, all muscle.

But could Madame Gabriela and Vincente be boning?  I don’t see it.

“Alright, everyone,” Vincente says to us girls.  “Everyone find a spot to lie down.  We’ll do the water meditation.”

Gratefully, I plop down onto the dance floor, then stretch out on my back.  We started doing these meditations when Vincente was hired.  You lie down with your eyes closed, listening to the instructor, and then he feeds you descriptive imagery.  Your muscles relax, and you feel like your body is turning into a cloud, or a school of fish, or radio wave, or something like that.

The shit sounds totally weird, but I’ve learned to like it.  You lie down, you experience something weird, then when you get up, you feel like you had a long nap.  Except you’re totally aware and awake the whole time.  Its good, you should try it.

I arrange my limbs, aware of Alba lying next to me.

“Close your eyes, please,” Vincente tells us.  His voice is high-pitched for a man’s.

I follow his instructions, aware of the rubbery floor beneath me.  Vincente drones on, and this time, I feel my body turn into water.  Like, I **_literally_** experience the sensation of my legs, then hips, then stomach, then arms, then head, all magically become water.  As I dematerialize, my muscles thank me for this relaxation.

Vincente leaves us in our water-states for a few minutes, which is a good time to think about stuff.  I should be quickly reviewing the new routines and locking them in my memory.

But for some reason, I find myself thinking about Julián.  Ah, Julián.  My sexy boy.  I smile inside as I remember that wonderful dick of his teasing my pussy, then thrusting in.  Man, I’d so rather be with him right now.

Which reminds me…  I haven’t seen or heard from that boy in, what, five days now?  Alba and Maia are getting laid.  Where’s mine?

When meditation is over, I yank my phone out of my duffle bag.  Still no text from Julián.  Damn, what’s a girl to do?  I send him a quick **_S’up?_** message.

I gulp a big swig from my water bottle.  Before I swish it down, the phone vibes.

Its him!

Julián writes, **_Hey baby._**

Now I’m happy.  I send:  **_Hey u want 2 come over 2night?_**

Translation:  _Me horny.  Booty call?_

Romina, our dancer from Poland, comes by, also reaching for her water and phone.  She glances at my tiny screen.

“Is your boyfriend?” she asks me in her heavily-accented English.

I shoot her a mysterious glance and waggle my eyebrows.

The phone vibes again.  **_Sure,_** Julián replies.  **_When is good?_**

Nice!  My pussy is already impatient.  Julián and I work out the details.

As I stash my phone away, Romina is looking at me with a concerned expression.

 _Dios!_   This girl is such a worry-freak.

“What?” I ask her, not too nicely.

“Is just that…” Romina says.

“Spit it out,” I demand.

“Is just that I think you boyfriend is… how you say… cheating on you,” replies Romina.

My heart just stopped.  “The fuck you say?” I say.

“At coffee place, I saw him,” Romina tells me.  “Last night.  With her.”

And she nods her head at Maia.

*****


	2. Chapter 2

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

As I wait for Julián to arrive at my apartment, I’m not sure what to make of Romina’s accusation.  How can that Polish girl be telling the truth?  What if she’s just jealous?

Yeah.  Just jealous.  I try to force Romina from my mind.

Then the doorbell chimes and I grin with delight.  My roommates (none of whom are dancers) roll their eyes and try to act disinterested.

There is gorgeous Julián, right on time.  He wears a black button-down shirt, which compliments his wire frame well.  I gaze into those soft hazel eyes of his, and I’m putty.

“Here there,” I say softly, then grab Julián by the collar.  I yank him close and we kiss.

One of the things I like about my boyfriend is that I can get bossy and aggressive with him, and he doesn’t seem to mind.  Most guys are turned off by this.  Not Julián.

Oh, man.  I’m so into him.

*****

Julián politely makes some polite small talk with my roomies, but its not long at all before he and I are stripping off our clothes in the bedroom.  I let out an uncharacteristic giggle as he wrestles with my bra.  Then we are kissing.  Its fun getting naked.

As Julián’s hands roam over my back, I press against him, kissing deeply.  I feel him lean forward, guiding me down onto my mattress.  His erection is like a fifth appendage, pushing against me.  He’s ready to fuck.

Strangely, I’m not.  Romina’s words bubble up in my mind.  Suddenly, I’m wary.

I allow myself to lie back, but I stop kissing.

“What is it?” Julián asks, really in heat.

“Its…” I mumble.  “Its nothing.”

When a girl tells her boyfriend, “ _So-and-so said you are cheating on me!_ ” its always trouble.  The boy **_always_** assumes you are accusing him.  I don’t want to mess this up just because Romina wants to provoke a little trouble.

Julián stops fondling my breast.  “Seriously,” he asks, “What’s up?”  He playfully nibbles my earlobe.  “Anything I can do?”

I smile and blush.  “That feels nice.  More, please.”

But I can tell Julián wants to know what’s up with me.  “I have an idea,” he announces.  “On your belly!”

He half-slaps my hip, a whimsical gesture.

I make a face, but roll over like Julián wants.   He straddles my butt.

“Ah, good,” Julián murmurs in approval.  I hear him crack his knuckles, and then feel his fingertips scurry across my back.  He traces the outlines of my muscles.

“Did I ever tell you,” my boyfriend remarks, “that I am a trained masseuse?”

And then, his strong hands begin work on me.  I feel my lower back kneaded and caressed, and maaaaaaaaa ** _aaaaaaaannn_** … does that feel good!  Oh… yeah…!

So; my bubble-butt, award-winning cute, champion lovemaking boyfriend is also a masseuse?!?  God ** _DAMN!_**   Did I just cash in all my karma points or something?  If he cleans bathrooms, I’m marrying him.

Julián continues to play me like a piano, mumbling something about letting go and letting my muscles relax.  By the time he’s worked up to my shoulderblades, I am immobilized with numbing pleasure.  I’m experiencing something like a waking coma, I think.  I feel euphoric.

“Now then,” Julián says soothingly, “what is bothering you?”

Dimly, I remember my reluctance to mention Romina.

“You can tell me,” promises my boyfriend.

With me lying on my back and Julián on top of me, its like his voice is in my mind rather than above me.  I dully think about it for a second and decide, what the fuck, I can tell him.  I’m so relaxed, it just seems natural to want to please him.

I mumble, telling him about Romina’s suspicion. 

“Oh,” Julián says, surprised.  “I wonder why your friend would think that?”

Seriously, it’s a good question.  Julián and Maia have never met.  They couldn’t have; I met Julián at the laundromat, and I’ve never brought him to anything with the girls.

“You have beautiful muscles,” Julián comments, working my lower back again.  “So hot…!”

He leans forward and kisses my back.  I smile inside.

“You know,” teases Julián, “I also know erotic massage.  Check it…!”

He plants his fingers and palms underneath my neck, pushing down slightly.  Then, in one smooth motion, his hands sweep down my body, coming to rest on my butt.  Those fingers curl around each ass cheek, and he begins to swirl them around.  Slowly.

Seriously, this feels **_incredible_**.  I’m starting to get aroused.

Julián repeats this motion again, and then yet again.  Each time he touches my butt, it drives me a little wilder.  Wow.  After the third sweep, he pushes my legs apart.

I know what’s coming.  I love it.

“Now,” Julián tells me, readying his hands for a fourth run, “this time when I touch you down here, your body will come to life.  You’ll know what to do.”

Those marvelous hands travel down me again.  As I feel Julián’s grip on my ass, I feel my tranquilized body re-animate, just as he said.  I can move my arms and legs!

I pull my legs up, tucking them under my stomach.  This lifts my butt upwards, and I arch my back.

“Aw, yeah,” whispers Julián.

His hands slide up my buttocks, around my hips, and to the top of my thighs.  He positions himself, and then…

 ** _Yes!_**   I feel his stiff cock slide right in me.  _Nnnnnnnnngh!_   Oh yeah, I didn’t realize I was so wet.  That massage…!

Julián begins fucking me from behind.  Right away, he’s plowing me at full blast.  Oh **_God!_**

I don’t know about you, but I love doggie style.  **_Love it!_**   I love how the guy can enter me at just the perfect angle, brushing my spot, and riding up my love canal all the way.  There’s no obstruction, no other body parts in the way, nothing that might cramp without warning.  As the guy is pounding, you can lean into him for maximum effect, which is a lot of control given that he’s in the dominant position.

And most of all, I just love that moment when he’s slamming again and again, you are near to cumming, and all you can feel his is body flopping against your ass.  Oh yes!

Now Julián is ramming me like a **_fiend possessed_** and I am hanging onto the bed for dear life.  Oh, this feels sooooo good!  Julián really needs to write a book about how he does this, so women for generations to come can know what a good fucking **_really_** feels like.

Ohhhhh man!!!

*****

We fuck like teenaged rabbits, humping one another in three different positions.  I can’t believe Julián’s stamina.  I am noisier than usual, which is probably why my roommates are blasting the TV in the next room.

But eventually, Julián and I run out of steam.  We lie together, our bodies intertwined, our heads gently touching each other.  Life is perfect.

Then Julián begins speaking softly, rubbing my temple with one hand.  It feels nice.  I lose track of what he’s saying… its mostly after-sex nonsense, after all… and let my mind wander.  My eyes close.  I can feel his heartbeat.  I match my breathing with his.  I want to do whatever he tells me to do.

God… I’m so into him.

*****

Two days later, we are on-set, shooting that car commercial.  In the commercial, the car (a Buick sedan, pretty nice) rests in a parking lot next to the water in Gaston Edwards Park.  We dancing girls do our routine around the car, flirting with it like it can fuck us or something.  I’m not sure what the meaning is, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to look horny or something while I waggle my boobs at this hunk of metal.

Our costumes are sure skimpy enough.  I’m wearing short shorts (not meant for dancing) and a string bikini top.  I could stop traffic in this little number.

The director watches, hates everything, and demand changes.  So Madame Gabriela creases her forehead and begins reblocking everything on-the-fly.  I hate this last-minute crap, but it’s part of the job.

It takes three hours of dancing in the hot sun before the director is satisfied.  A ten-minute break is called.

While I’m sucking down my water, I amble over to Maia.  Time for a conversation I’ve been putting off.

“Hey _chica_ ,” I rasp.

About as sweaty as I am, Maia merely nods.

I don’t have time for chit-chat.  “So…” I say, “How’s Carlos?”

“Who?” Maia asks.

Uh-oh.  “Your boyfriend,” I say quickly.

“Oh,” replies Maia.  “ ** _Juan_** , you mean.  Yeah, we’re good.”

Juan?  Not Julián.  Hmm.

“I’m seeing him later,” Maia mentions.  Suddenly her eyes pop.  “You should come with us!  We’re gonna get coffee, then maybe dinner.”

Well, that was easier than I thought.  “I’ll grab coffee with you guys,” I allow.

Vincente, the Assistant Choreographer appears, holding the production clipboard.  “Everything okay here, ladies?” the meek little guy asks.

“Fine, dude,” I respond.  Meaning:  _Butt out._

“I think we may not be breaking just yet,” Vincente informs us.  “The director just had another idea.”

I moan.  Fuck me, this is not a fun gig.

*****

But we only dance for another hour.  Then its back to the dance studio, a through shower, and into my street clothes.  I happily toss my ridiculous costume into the laundry bin, hoping I never see it again.

Maia is waiting for me at the front door.  She checks her phone.  “Ah,” she says, pleased.  “Juan says to grab coffee now; he’s running late.”

So Maia and I walk the three blocks to Starbucks, talking careers.  She hopes to professionally dance for another ten years, then move back home to open a dance school.  Half of the dancers I’ve ever met have the exact same life plan.

We buy coffee, cop a squat at a table, and continue gabbing.  I am getting bored.

“Ah!” Maia suddenly says, her eyes lighting up.  “There he is!”

I swivel about.  Walking into the joint is a young guy, thin and light on his feet.  He has the same build and hair color as Julián, but…

Nope.  Its not Julián.  Not even close.  This guy is good-looking, but no-where as hot as my Julián.  His nose is too big and he has buck teeth.  How many Latino guys do you know with buck teeth?

I relax inside.  Mystery solved.  Romina probably saw Juan and Maia from a distance and assumed the worst.  What a silly bitch.  She should know better than that.  I could have ruined my friendship with Maia over Romina’s stupid accusation.

Maia leaps up to enclose her boyfriend in a hug and kiss as he reaches the table.  She’s over-the-moon to see him.

“Hi there,” I say to Juan as he sits.  We politely shake hands and introduce ourselves.

Maia can’t stop grinning.  This girl is so wrapped around Juan’s little finger, its not funny.  I see I’m not wanted here, so I make an excuse to bail.

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Maia tells me, hugging Juan’s arm.  “Hey, isn’t he **_perfect?_**   I’m so into him.”

*****

Our next rehearsal is grueling.  The mall appearance has been canceled; apparently the mall’s check bounced?  But that’s okay, because Madame Gabriela has landed a better gig; we’re to appear on Antonio and Esteban, a local guy’s talk show.  In two days.  There’s not a lot of time.

We have to scrap all the routines we made for the mall and begin from scratch.  It sounds like Antonio and Esteban want sexy dancing girls, but not much else.  We can do that.  Although it bothers me that Orlando sometimes thinks of us as a high-end exotic dance service.

During a run-through of the new set, I plant my left foot for a Michael Jackson Smooth Criminal and shift my weight a little too quickly.  **_SHIT!!!_**   A spasm of pain bites my ankle.

I break the routine immediately.  Dancers have a cardinal rule:  **_Unless you’re performing, stop if something hurts!_**   Wincing, I hobble to a folding chair off the dance floor.

Alba, Maia, and the rest of the girls shoot me concerned looks, but keep going.  That’s how the pros do it.

I grab a second chair and set my left foot on it.  Gently, I probe my ankle with my fingers.

“How bad?” a male voice says at my side.  Its Vincente.

“Doesn’t feel that awful,” I say truthfully.  “Hopefully a minor sprain.”

“I’ll get some ice,” our Assistant Choreographer says, and is gone.

I curse my luck.  Injuries are a part of dancing, and my gut tells me I’ll still be okay to make the show in two days.  But I could really use the practice time to memorize everything.

*****

So I sit out the rest of rehearsal, watching from the sidelines, and doing my best to learn all I can.  In the meantime, when Madame Gabriela isn’t looking, I check my phone.  **_Still_** no text from Julián.  I’m crazy about how that boy pleasures me in bed, but goddamn, you’d think he could reach out to me once in a while, right?

And then rehearsal is over.  My ankle is near-frozen from the icepack, but I think I’ll be okay.  Until I stand up.

**_Ouch._ **

Okay, maybe I’ll need to wrap it and stay off my feet for the rest of today.  As long as I resist junk food while sitting in front of the TV, I’ll be fine.

“Ladies,” Vincente shouts out, “Let’s do a meditation.  For cool-down.”

The girls drop to the floor, arranging themselves as usual.  I lower myself back into my chair.

“Hey!  Elena!” Vincente calls to me.  “You too!  On the floor please?”

Seriously?  I barely danced.  I don’t need meditation.

“Com’on now,” insists the Assistant Choreographer.

Fine.  I pop my phone into my pocket, then climb down onto the floor.  Its awkward, as I dare not put any weight on my left foot.

Soon I am lying beside Rosalinda, our Cuban redhead.  I close my eyes, as usual.  Damn, Rosalinda wears **_perfume_** to rehearsal?  What is up with that girl?

Vincente begins his prattle.  “Imagine,” he tells us, that your body is slowly turning into sunbeams.  Gentle, relaxing sunbeams.  Start with your toes.  Imagine, right now, that your toes are turning from flesh and becoming sparkly, warm sunbeams.”

I know the drill.  In your head, you picture your toes turning into sunbeams (or whatever) and suddenly your muscles literally **_do_** feel like they are transforming.  I grimace a little as my ankle complains, trying to keep my tootsies framed in my mind.

“Very good,” Vincente says.  “Now let your feet, your whole feet, turn into sunbeams.  Nice, relaxing-“

 ** _Ow!_**   My ankle just throbbed again.  Maybe because I’m trying to imagine my foot becoming a light beam or some shit?  Damn it.

I try to ignore, concentrating on Vincente.  He’s up to our knees.

But my ankle just won’t shut up.  Every time I think I’ve pushed it from my awareness, it complains again.

Vincente just reached our necks.  I still haven’t felt my feet turn into sunbeams.  Oh well.  No meditation for me, it seems.  I debate if I want to sit up and get out of here, but no, that would just disrupt the other girls.

So I just lie still.  In another minute, Vincente will reverse his illusion, and we’ll all pick ourselves off the floor.

But then, Vincente’s voice changes.  It grows darker, more assertive.  “And now,” he says, “I will count down from twenty to one.  As I do, you will descend deeper and deeper into sleep.  When I reach one, you will be fully relaxed, fully asleep.”

He begins counting down, snapping his fingers loudly with each number.

Every time Vincente snaps, something weird happens within me.  I have this great desire to let go, to surrender, to let him guide me and tell me what to do.  It just feels **_so natural_**.

The numbers roll on, and even though my ankle still hurts, I am captivated and swept along.  I feel my body and mind drift, as if I am floating in an ocean.  The pain in my left leg is there, gnawing at me, but I don’t care.

“One!” says Vincente.

When did he get all the way down to one?

“And now,” I hear Vincente’s voice say, “you are all deeply asleep, deeply in my control.  While you are in this sleep, you will happily accept my every command.  Later on, when you are awake, you will have no memory of these instructions, yet you will follow and obey them as if they were your own thoughts and desires.”

Although I am deeply relaxed, I know something is deeply wrong.  I want to obey Vincente, but…

“You are all excellent dancers, the best in the business,” Vincente tells us.  “You will dance confidently and proudly every time you do a routine.  Madame Gabriela is an excellent teacher, and you feel lucky to work under her.  You also find me to be an excellent instructor, too.”

In my semi-tranquilized state, I can’t help but think:  But… Madame Gabriela and Vincente **_are_** an excellent teachers.  I’ve never thought otherwise.

Vincente goes on.  “You are confident in your bodies.  When you are asked to wear skimpy costumes, you may grumble to put them on, but you will not feel ashamed in the slightest.  In fact, looking good in skimpy costumes makes you feel wonderful.  You will be careful to maintain your figure.

“Another important instruction,” he continues.  “If you should ever, ever see me outside of work and I’m with another woman, you will instantly fail to recognize me.  Even if you are looking me squarely in the eyes, you will absolutely believe that you have **_no idea_** who I am.  You will be convinced I am a perfect stranger.  Let this command and suggestion go **_deep_** into your subconscious, ladies.

“One last thing,” says Vincente.  “I will touch a few girls on the shoulder.  If you feel my hand on your body, that will be a sign that you must come to my office after rehearsal.  Once you are showered and in your street clothes, you will have an irresistible desire to come to my office later.  There will seem nothing unusual about any of this.”

I hear Vincente moving among the sleeping girls, occasionally bending down.  At one point, he comes by me, and I feel his small hand press gently against my shoulder.

Then he rises, moving back to where he stood at the top of meditation.

“And now,” Vincente says, “I will count up from one to ten.  On the number ten, you will open your eyes, refreshed, relaxed, completely convinced that we just did a two-minute meditation.  You will remember **_nothing_** of my secret instructions.  Ready?”

As Vincente counts, I feel my body surging back to life.

My ankle!  Suddenly it hurts like a motherfucker.

*****

“Ten!” says Vincente brightly.

My eyes slowly open.  For a moment, I’m confused.

All around me, girls are sitting up and stretching.  I struggle to get up myself.

My head is foggy.  I feel like I just had the weirdest dream, but… what was it?  I can’t remember.  Something about Vincente putting us to sleep, and… something.

Oh man, its weird, but I feel like I have to do something.  I just can’t put my finger on what.

*****

I shower and change with the other girls, careful to keep off my ankle as much as possible.  Luckily Alba has a wrap I can steal, and she and Maia wrap up my ankle like I’m a mummy or something.  The constant, gentle pressure feels good.

“There,” Alba tells me confidently.  “It’ll sting for today, but you’ll be okay in time for the show.”

“Thanks,” I say, scrunching my nose.  This strange urge is nagging at me.  What is it I **_have_** to do???

“What?” asks Alba, mistaking my expression for pain.  “Is it too tight?”

“No, no, its great,” I assure her.  “Hey, let’s get out of here, eh?  I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” Alba agrees.  A funny look crosses her face.  “But before I go… I have to do something.”

“Me too,” says Maia.

I know how they feel.  “Me too,” I second.

“Com’on, then,” Alba says, tossing her ponytail.

We three leave the locker room, traveling a little slow for my sake.  Without a word, we turn left down the corridor, and make a beeline for Vincente’s tiny little office.

The nagging feeling in my mind is growing stronger.  I’m not sure I’m choosing to go to the office.  My two friends, however, don’t seem to find anything amiss.

*****

We file through the tiny office door.  Already inside, behind the little desk, is Vincente.  Romina is with him, seated on his couch.  There’s little room in here for the five of us.

I automatically shut the door after Alba, Maia, and I enter.  We three sit next to Romina, completely filling the couch.

“Excellent,” Vincente comments, hopping to his feet.  “All of you look at me, please?”

We stare up at our Assistant Choreographer, silent.

“ ** _Sleep!_** ” barks Vincente, snapping his fingers, loudly.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

I am having the strangest dream.  Physically, I am on a couch, and my body is so out-of-it that I don’t care that I am flopped against Alba for support.  She, in turn, is leaning on Maia, and I think Maia’s head is in my lap?  I’m not sure.  Whatever.  I don’t care.

I am soooooooo relaxed, I’m just happy to be able to turn off my brain.  Every part of my body is letting go, allowing me to sink even deeper and deeper into this wonderful, peaceful feeling.  I could stay like this forever.

Wait…

Goddamnit, my ankle!

As a kid, I was once in a deep sleep when our family’s new kitten, Sparky, decided to play with my foot, which was under the covers.  Sparky pounced and sunk his little kitten teeth and claws into me.  I barely felt them through the covers and my socks, but **_enough_** of the little fleabag’s weapons pricked me.  Even though I was way, way in dreamland, I was aware of this tiny amount of pain.  It was enough to make me aware that I was dreaming.

That’s how I feel now.  **_Almost_** completely peaceful, **_almost_** totally passive, **_almost_** zonked out of my mind… but a tiny little bit of me is in pain.

“We need to have some reinforcement suggestions,” Vincente’s voice says, filling my almost-tranquil mind.  “And I want to add a new girlfriend to our little club.”

I hear the man move to the other end of the couch.  “Romina, listen to me very carefully,” he says rapidly.  “Whenever you see me at your apartment, you will be convinced I am actually **_Santino_** , who is the most perfect boyfriend for you in every possible way.  When you see me in your apartment, you will see **_Santino_** , who is incredibly handsome and sexy and everything you’ve ever wanted in a guy.  My body will be so sexy for you, you will get horny simply looking at me.  And when we go to bed, you will discover **_Santino_** is the most exciting lover you’ve ever tasted.

“When you think about me as **_Santino_** ,” Vincente tells the sleeping Romina, “the most prominent thought in your mind is this: **_You’re so into me._**   Say it aloud, now.”

Sounding like she is drugged, Romina mumbles, “I’m so into you…”

“Again, Romina.”

“I’m so into you…”

“Again!”

“I’m so into you…”

“Good, Romina,” the Assistant Choreographer compliments.  “Now go deeper into sleep, feeling those commands and suggestions embed themselves deep, deep, deep within your subconscious.  When you next awake, you will consciously forget these instructions, but you will follow and obey them without awareness.  **_Sleep…!_** ”

Vincente moves over a foot.  “And you, Maia,” he says, “whenever you see me at your apartment, you will see me as **_Juan_** , your perfect, sexy boyfriend.  Other times I may hypnotize you to see me as **_Juan_** in public places.  **_Juan_** is your perfect boyfriend.  He is the most satisfying man in bed.  When you think about **_Juan_** , your first thought is:  **_You’re so into me._**   Say it.”

Tonelessly, Maia repeats, “I’m so into you….”

“Alba,” Vincente says.  “When at your apartment, I am **_Eduardo_** , your perfect lover.  **_You’re so into me_**.  Say it.”

I feel Alba’s sleeping body stir a little as she echos, “I’m so into you…”

“Yes, very good,” purrs Vincente.  “Both girls, deeper and deeper asleep…!”  He snaps his fingers.

I feel Alba sigh happily, and then her body deflates even more.

I’m now aware that Vincente has moved to loom over me.  One of his hands touches my shoulder.

“And Elena,” he says, authority in his voice, “when I command you, you will see me as **_Julián_** , your perfect lover.  **_You’re so into me_**.  Say it.”

I hear my own, wooden voice say, “I’m so…”

Ouch!  My ankle just twinged.  I automatically wrinkle my brow.

“Elena,” Vincente says, his voice uncertain.  “Say it.”

I feel my mouth open to obey his commands.  I take a breath in…

*****

My eyes fly open.  All of my senses are instantly reactivated.  It’s a jolt, as if waking from a nightmare.  I sit up quickly.

Before me, leaning over at me with an intense expression, is Vincente.  I look about.  Where am I?

I’m on a small red couch, in… Vincente’s office?  I assume this is his office.  I’ve never been in here before.  Beside me on the couch are Alba, Maia, and Romina, and – this is weird – they all seem to be sleeping.  What’s up with that?

Vincente stares at me, alarmed.  “ ** _Sleep!_** ” he says, snapping his fingers loudly.

How annoying.  I blink, pulling back my head.

“ ** _Sleep!_** ” Vincente tells me, more forcefully this time.

“Fuck off,” I say, really peeved.

I go to sit up when I make the mistake of trying to use my left foot.

Owww!  **_Fuck!_**

I sort through foggy memories.  I was dancing, I sprained, I did meditation, and then, the girls helped me wrap up my foot…  but how did I get in here?  My recollections are a total blank after that.

“Hey, hey,” Vincente says quickly, moving to stop me.  “You’d better sit still, there.”

I have the vaguest… its not a _memory_ , more like a _sensation_ …. that just seconds ago, Vincente was commanding me to do something.  I can’t remember what.  But I don’t like that feeling.

Ignoring our Assistant Choreographer, I try to push him aside and rise to my feet.

My left ankle shrieks in pain.  I grunt, and fall back on the couch.

Okay.  I’m not going anywhere, at least not quickly.  But why do I have this creepy feeling about this office?

I cast a wary look at Vincente, then at the other ladies sleeping on this couch.  They look peaceful sleeping there… but its weird how they are leaning on one another.  Like they are rag dolls.

“What’s going on here?” I ask suspiciously.

“You don’t remember,” Vincente exclaims.  He seems relieved.

“Remember what?” I demand.

The young man licks his lips, furiously thinking.  “We were… doing some hypnosis,” he explains.  “These three girls are hypnotized.  So were you, a moment ago.”

Hypnosis?!?

“Bullshit,” I accuse.  “Why would we be doing hypnotism?  What are you doing?”

“Hypnosis enhances performance,” Vincente explains hastily.

That’s true.  I remember hearing a story about another pro dancer we know who won a competition while under hypnosis.  Her coach used it to, I don’t know, make her dance her best.  Or something.  I don’t understand how that shit works, but the chick won first place.  And a $10,000 prize.  After I heard that, I considered seeing a hypnotist myself.

But Vincente’s story is just too suspicious.  And creepy.  “You’re hypnotizing us to make us better dancers?” I say in a flat voice.

“Uh, yeah,” Vincente assures me.

Uh-huh.  I fold my arms across my chest.  “Why don’t I remember any of this?”

“That happens sometimes,” Vincente tells me.  “Hypnosis can make people forget.  It will all come back to you.”

I’ve half a mind to shake Alba and Maia and wake them up.

Vincente’s expression changes somewhat.  “We were using hypnosis for something else on you,” he says quickly.

I arch one eyebrow.  “Oh?”

The young man leans down, gingerly picking up my left foot.  He places it gingerly in my lap.  “Hypnosis is wonderful for pain relief,” he remarks.  “And healing.”

As he mentions this, my ankle flares in pain.  I wince, sucking in a breath.

I still don’t buy what Vincente’s telling me, though.  Something else is going on here.

“Really,” I drawl.  “Com’on, man, you can’t hypnotize a girl to heal her foot.”

“Let me show you something,” says Vincente.  He places a gentle hand over my ankle, and begins rubbing.  Just a little.

“Just think about your foot here,” he tells me.  “Go on, picture it in your mind.”

I scrunch up my nose a little.  I can’t shake the feeling that Vincente is trying to pull a fast one on me.  But the guy just doesn’t seem bright enough for that kind of trickery.

“Go ahead,” Vincente urges.  “Picture it.”

I sigh, looking up at the ceiling.  Fine, whatever.  In my imagination, I see my leg, the bones, the muscles, the blood, yadda yadda yadda.  I’m using the diagram of an anatomy textbook I once found at my Uncle Mateo’s.

“Good,” says Vincente.  “Keep thinking about your ankle.”

He goes on stroking, his skin barely touching mine.  I’m more aware of the heat from his hands then the feel of physical contact.

Vincente begins to talk steadily, “Hold that picture in your mind.  See it clearly.  As you do, your body will tell you which muscles need healing.”

“This is hypnotism?” I frown.  Because I don’t feel sleepy in the slightest.

“It’s a visualization technique,” Vincente explains.  “Do you see your wounded muscles?”

“Sort of,” I say.  My imaginary X-ray isn’t that detailed.  Plus, the drop ceiling in this office really needs to be replaced.

Vincente nods.  “So close your eyes.  Its easier to visualize that way.”

I shoot him an annoyed glance.  Vincente smiles at me.

“Go on,” he coaxes.  “Just try it.  You’ll see.”

I have a feeling I’m being conned or something, but I do as he requests.  For now.

As soon as my eyes close, the mental picture of my leg becomes much sharper.  Bones are light blue, muscles become a rich red.  As I inspect, some of the muscles in my ankle start glowing in an angry light.

“I see it,” I tell Vincente.  Actually, this is a little cool.

“Good,” Vincente says approvingly.  “Now check this out.”

The Assistant Choreographer begins to sweep his hands over my ankle is larger and larger circles.  “You can see the injured muscles?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Imagine,” he tells me, “that as you concentrate on those muscles, and those muscles only, you can decrease the pain.  Imagine what that would be like.”

“Okay-“ I begin.

“Don’t tell me,” Vincente interrupts.  “Concentrate your focus **_inside_** your body.”

Simple enough.  In my mind’s X-ray, I zoom in on the glowing muscles in my ankle.

“You can **_will_** them to turn down the pain,” Vincente’s voice tells me.

I-

Hey!  Holy shit!  That fire-like glow **_is_** actually fading!  Just a little, but I’m sure… yes, the glow is going out!

And at the same time, my ankle seems to be lapsing into comfort.  The pain **_really is_** fading.

Huh.  I’ll admit it: that’s really cool.

Maybe its that rubbing thing Vincente is doing?  No, that doesn’t make-

I must have smiled or something, because Vincente says, “You see?  All my hands are doing is help you focus your concentration.  Your mind is shutting off the pain.  Very easy.

“Let’s go further.  Concentrate even harder.  Sprains like this one happen because one muscle in particular suffers damage.  The other instinctively kick in to help it at the time of the accident.  But if your mind can isolate the primary muscle, you’ll heel faster.

“So concentrate more.  As you and your imagination focus on your ankle harder, you’ll sooner or later notice one muscle that is in deeper pain than the others.  Watch for that muscle.”

I want to nod, to acknowledge Vincente’s instruction, but my head doesn’t want to move for some reason.  No matter.  Inside, I am watching my imaginary bones and muscles grow in size and detail.

One muscle is more hurt than the others?  Can that be true?  I don’t see anything different…

Of course, I don’t know anything about human anatomy.  Oh, sure, in my imagination, I can picture leg and foot bones, wrapped together in red, meaty-looking muscle strands.  But do I know what muscles are which?  Do I even know that I’m imagining the correct muscles and bones and whatnot?  I have no idea.

Screw it.  This mind-over-matter stuff is working.  My pain is receding.  Vincente has been right about everything so far.

As I muse, a single muscle in my ankle starts flaring with a purplish tint.  I don’t notice it right away… but there it is.  Wow.  Just like Vincente said.

I feel my body shift a bit as I physically get more comfortable on the couch.

“You see the injured muscle,” observes Vincente.  His voice sounds like he’s sitting next to me, a co-pilot on this visual journey into my body.  “Good.  Try to think of nothing but that muscle.”

Okay.

“I’ll count from ten to one,” Vincente says conversationally.  “As I do, feel your concentration on this muscle grow sharper, more detailed.  You’ll also feel the pain dull and go away as I count.  Allow yourself to relax into this heightened vision.  Ready?  Ten…”

The hurt muscle grows larger still.  I feel like I can sense its size, its length, its feelings.  Yes, its feelings.  It is confused, angry.  I mentally tell it that everything will be okay.  Its like I’m the momma and it’s the baby.

“Nine…” Vincente’s voice says.

I’m really, really into this vision.  This is like those meditations Vincente does with us after rehearsal, only so much more powerful.  I feel awesome all over.

“Eight…” says Vincente.  “As you gain power over your muscle, your entire body sinks deeper into relaxation…”

Yes.  He’s right.  In my imagination, I say more comforting things to the bad muscle, and I’m delighted as I lull it to sleep.  The pain in my ankle is almost completely gone.

Vincente keeps counting downward, each number brushing away more discomfort from my body.  I feel so relaxed, from head-to-toe.  This is just awesome.  I sort of want to stay in this feeling for a while longer.

As my Assistant Choreographer yammers on, everything fades from my mind.  The internal vision of my leg, the injured muscle, everything.  I no longer seem to have legs or arms or even a body.  I am floating along, happy to just drift like this.  Vincente’s words flow over my thoughts.  I like it.

“And… one!” I am dimly aware of him saying.  “You are asleep, Elena, deeply asleep.  As I touch you on the forehead, you drop ten times deeper into this comforting, relaxing sleep, where you will remember nothing but you will follow all my suggestions.”

In my mind, I lazily wonder what he’s talking about.  I could rouse myself to ask him, but I don’t feel like it.

Then, two fingertips touch my forehead.  Its like a button turning off my brain has been pushed.

I surrender to the wonderful feeling of sleep, and remember no more.

*****


	4. Epilogue

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

Rehearsal is nearly over.  I am still on the sidelines, as my ankle sprain was more serious than anyone originally thought.  I’ll be off my feet for the rest of the week.

So Madame Gabriela has made me into her note-taker.  Its thankless busywork, but it gives me something active to do while in rehearsal.  I sit next to the folding table piled high with the girls’ bags and watch the routine.  As the girls dance, I hurriedly scribble down anything our Head Choreographer yells in my directions.

I’m frankly glad I’m out of this routine.  It looks like a lot of memorization, for what?  Less than two minutes of dance time?  In barely-there costumes?  Eck.

The routine ends, Madame Gabriela throws out some notes, and then calls for a fifteen minute break while she and Vincente retreat to her office to review her blocking for the next set.

I smirk as the two vanish.  They’re probably off for a quickie, I mischievously think.

The girls wander to their water bottles, gossiping and checking their phones.  Romina wanders near me, intently rummaging through her backpack on the table.

I lean over in my chair, and flick her in the ass, once, really hard.

“ ** _Hej!_** ” Romina squeals.  I guffaw with immature laughter.

“Got you, _chica_ ,” I tease.

“Ah, yes,” our Polish dancer smiles lamely.  “Very funny.”

 _Gritos...!_   She can’t take a joke.  Time to be the considerate dancemate.

“So how are things with the new boyfriend?” I ask amiably.

Romina’s face flushes.  “Oh,” she gushes, “Santino, he is… how to say… so **_wonderful_**.  He make me feel… er…”

“He’s great with his cock,” I supply.

“ _Tak_ , yes,” Romina giggles, her face becoming even redder.

“Good for you, _chica_ ,” I grin, and offer a fist bump.

“ _Dziękuję Ci_ , thank you,” replies Romina, thrilled at my acceptance.  She sighs happily.  “Santino, I’m… how you say?  So into him.”

The Polish chick and I chat some more.  She’s head-over-heels, alright.  I’m almost jealous.

*****

I’m still thinking about Romina and her _novio_ when I’m finally able to sync up with Julián.  Damn, where’s that boy been hiding?  As usual, he wants to come over to my place.  Fine with me.

This time, my roommates take off for the movies.  I’m thrilled Julián and I have the joint to ourselves.

So when he comes over, we snuggle on the couch and stream Netflix.  In five minutes, we’ve forgotten the movie and are deep French kissing.  Julián’s hand snakes under my tee shirt.

I momentarily think of Romina, and then Alba and Maia.

“Hey,” I whisper, breaking the kiss.  “I **_totally_** want to fuck tonight, _niño_ , but what if next time we meet, we do something different?”

Julián hesitates, his hand on my tit.  “What do you mean?” he asks warily.

“I was thinking,” I say, playing with a stand of my black hair, “we could go out clubbing with my girlfriends and their boys.  Might be fun.”

“Your dancer friends?” says Julián.

“Yeah,” I respond excitedly.  I start to tell him about my girlfriends, and how awesome they are.  “They’ll bring their boytoys, and you guys can totally hang and-“

“I don’t know,” Julián frowns, pulling his hand back.  “That’s really not my scene.”

“What?” I exclaim, pressing against him.  “It would be, like, awesome.  And then we’d-“

Julián passes his hand before my face.  “ ** _Its not your thing, either,_** ” he says, his voice stony for a moment.

“ _Its not my thing either_ ,” I robotically echo.

I blink.  What was I thinking?  Going out with my girls and their sig others?  That’s a terrible idea.  The guys would probably hate each other.  And no doubt Alba, Maia, or Romina would realize how awesome Julián is and want him for themselves.

“ ** _We should just stay in_** ,” Julián tells me, doing the hand thing again.

“ _We should just stay in_ ,” I tell him.

You know what?  We **_should_** just stay in.  When push comes to shove, I am dating the cutest man in Orlando and he has the world’s most amazing penis.  I should just get down to what I **_really_** want.

I lean forward, kissing Julián, at first just lightly.  He smiles, flirting with me with his tongue.  Cheeky bastard.

I roll him underneath me and straddle his body.  Immediately, he slides my tee shirt up and over my head.  I pop off the bra, rather than let him struggle with it, and in seconds, he’s fondling my titties.

Mmm…  Nice…!

I scooch down, unzipping his fly.  We do some awkward balancing as I shimmy his pants and underwear off his hips and legs, but soon he’s as naked from the waist down as I am from the waist up.

The movie plays on; right now the scary alien monster is about to eat the head of the screaming military guys.  Neither Julián nor I could care less.

Time to show some love.  I grasp Julián’s cock in my hand, gently pumping it up and down, up and down.  I love it when I see his face go into its sex trance; its like I’m casting a spell over him.

Julián closes his eyes, but his hands find their way back to my boobs.  His thumbs go to work on my nipples, like I’m a video game or something.  Nipple stimulation normally doesn’t do much for me, but today…  ah, yes, that is nice.

We stroke one another.  I bend forward to kiss him some more.

Then Julián’s body shakes, and I realize he’s closer to cumming than I thought.  Shit!  I can’t have him squirt all over my roommate’s couch.

“Com’on,” I whisper, and climb off him.

We leave our discarded clothes and the movie running.  In seconds, we’re in my room again, eagerly climbing onto the bed.  During the brief dash, I’ve pulled off my jeans and panties; he’s yanked off his shirt.  Now we’re both naked.

Julián pushes me onto my back, and I spread my legs as he lowers down on top of me.  Oh _Dios!_   I’m ready.  Our lips meet.

I feel his cock begin thrusting into me, and its like a wonderful rush of the erotic and familiar.  Oh God, I **_love_** how my boyfriend fucks me!

I’m so into him.

*****


End file.
